Illness Strikes 221B
by Witty Maid
Summary: One day, Sherlock gets sick. Another day, John gets sick. (Witty Sayings' one shot) (This was transferred to a collaboration account)


Illness Strikes 221B

* * *

**Sherlock**

That morning, Sherlock felt as if he was falling apart. It was very cold, even though he is usually accustomed to the temperatures, his head was pounding, not because of his brain going on non stop, and every thing just seemed like a distraction to him. He laid down on the couch, trying to think that it was from staying up all night. Sherlock shook his head. That was ridiculous, he never had experienced this from staying up all night. Sherlock groaned and started to sniffle. He then realised that he was ill.

"John!" Sherlock weakly called. He grabbed his forehead when it pounded. John came and looked at his paler than usual complexion.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

Sherlock, in anger, threw himself off the couch and stared at John. John stepped back, looking dumbfounded. Then, Sherlock could feel all the blood coursing through his body too fast, so he laid back down again.

"I get it, you're sick. I'll just tell Lestrade that you can't help out with the case today." John said.

Sherlock scoffed and rose out of the couch which was suddenly so comfortable. "No, I will still come. It's just a little bit of-" Sherlock tried to improvise, "exhaustion. Lack of sleep."

"Sherlock, you're never tired." John said. Sherlock murmured, incoherently, as he grabbed his long coat and scarf. Even with the clothing, it was still cold, even though they were inside the flat.

When they reached the crime scene, it was raining, hard. Lestrade came up and saw that Sherlock was leaning a little bit on John for support. He started to laugh. "What's the meaning of this?"

"I'm sick," Sherlock started, "haven't you ever seen a sick person before?"

Before Sherlock could enter the crime scene, Lestrade pushed him back. Sherlock, who is normally stronger than he looks, backed away and sneezed. "Yeah, sorry, Sherlock. I don't want your illness contaminating the crime scene."

"Seriously? That's your reason?" Sherlock asked.

"Maybe we should go." John whispered, dragging Sherlock back to the cab that was still parked there for them.

Back at 221B, Sherlock did something her hardly every does. He slept without complaining.

* * *

**John **

By the end of the day, John was exhausted. In the morning, he worked down at the doctor's office with Sarah and then he helped Sherlock with a hard case that took about a week. When he was done typing on his blog, his head started to pound. John rubbed his eyes and head and shut the computer screen. After, he laid down his head on the computer screen murmuring, "Just five minutes." and fell asleep immediately.

The next morning, Sherlock saw John asleep next to his computer. Instead of waking him up, like a normal person would do, (then again, no one would describe Sherlock as "normal"), he studied John. After, he saw the pale skin, Sherlock took his temperature. It was high enough that John had a fever. Sherlock thought it would be fun to cure John so after, he took a DNA sample, John's blood type, and some found some OTC medicine in the pantry. Then he got to work. Mixing in the medicine with John's DNA sample and blood type, he created the medicine. After, Sherlock searched the cabinets for one of the medicine bottles to use. When he found one, he threw the liquid into the sink. After, Sherlock poured his "medicine" for John into it and woke John up.

John got up slowly and shivered. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. His head felt as if it was constantly being beaten with a rock, his nose was running, he couldn't breathe, and he felt as if the table would be a nice pillow. _I must be really sick_. John thought. His stomach churned and bile started to rise up his throat. He grabbed the nearest wastebasket and vomited in it. Sherlock was standing there with a smile on his face. "What is it, Sherlock?" John said, standing up.

"I saw that you were not feeling well."

"And?"

"I was already up so I decided to let you sleep. Meanwhile, I made a medicine designed especially for you." Sherlock beamed, handing the medicine to John. He sighed and took the medicine bottle from Sherlock. John wasn't feeling that well, therefore he just wanted to lie down. Forget about getting some medicine. After drinking the nasty liquid, he coughed it up.

"That's terrible!"

"Do you feel better?" Sherlock asked.

"NO!" John yelled leaving the room.

"He'll wait and see." Sherlock snickered.

Through the course of the day, John did start to feel better. By the evening, he felt so much better. It was like he was never sick. John saw Sherlock looking on his laptop. John didn't notice, yet.

"How did the medicine work?"

"Amazing."

"See I told you."

"Thanks." John then realised that Sherlock was using his laptop. "Hey!"

"What?" Sherlock asked, staring at him, turning his eyes away from the screen.

"What are you using my laptop for?"

"Got bored, so I decided to read your email."

* * *

**Author's Note: What Sherlock did when John was sick would not actually work. It's fiction so I decided to it.**

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. (Although I wished I did)


End file.
